


The Cooling Jets

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Broken Saber [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arriving at the beta site, Poe won't let Kylo out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time. Adrenaline come-down is hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cooling Jets

Poe isn’t going to let Kylo out of his sight. Not any time soon, anyway. He doesn’t care if he has to hold his hand and drag him from room to room. He nearly lost him, back on Carnia Prime, and if he hadn’t turned up when he did…

It doesn’t bear thinking about. It doesn’t. That damn Dark Jedi had been ready to kill Kylo, and Kylo… stupid, dumb, brave Kylo… he’d faced up to him and…

They’re only half-way to the debriefing room when he turns on his heel, sharply. His boots squeak over high-polished tile, and he grabs hold of his robes again.

“Poe?”  


“You know how close I was to losing you?”  


“I think I was there, at the time, yes,” Kylo replies, his lips twisting into the slightest of smiles.   


“Yeah, but… _do you_?” It’s adrenaline come-down. Has to be. All the pilots know about it, and they know enough to write-off any behaviour after a big flight or show-down. It’s just one of those things.  


You don’t make any decisions straight after you’ve come from a dog-fight. Not any, unless you have to. There’s a period when you think you’re invincible, and there’s a period when you can still think _oh so fast_ because the world is slowed under your body’s fight-or-flight flush, and the transition from that to ‘everything is awful and we almost died and oh my god what if I’d been two seconds slower and also I just saw someone go down in flames who I knew so well I could tell you which shower cubicle they preferred and there is no meaning to reality and we’re all going to die one day and why am I even doing this and…’ 

You just don’t. Quite a few fights are picked in this stage, and rank and everything else is put aside while they all try to come down as safely as possible. But he’s never been around Kylo in the post-fight madness before, and Kylo doesn’t understand these rules, and Poe is only half-sensible that he’s _in that phase_ because terror has an icy hand inside his chest and **doesn’t he understand** that this is the first time he nearly - he - he —

Poe realises his hands are shaking in Kylo’s clothing, and there’s soft, warm fingers stroking at the backs of his wrists. His jaw aches with how hard he’s biting down on fresh air, and his head swims, and his stomach is still in the middle of G-Force loops, and they’re _here_ and they’re **safe**  and…

“It’s okay,” comes the calming voice, as he’s pulled in against him. Sort of calming. Kylo’s voice is shaking, too. He knows he was fighting his own battles, and for a moment they just curl up like that. Poe lets Kylo’s arms envelop him, and he wraps a leg around the outside of his, and he breathes in that scent that’s just _him_.  


“I’m sorry,” Poe whispers, into his neck. “I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you again.” He’s supposed to be protecting Kylo, not the other way around. He’s supposed to help him, and save him, and comfort him, and not demand a broken man does it to _him_. When he’s _fine_. He **is fine**.  


(He isn’t.)

“But you didn’t.”  


“But I _could have_. Kylo… if I hadn’t… if…”  


“You came back for me,” Kylo insists, and his nose is through his hair, and Poe holds on even tighter. “You came back for me. You… you saved me.”  


“About kriffing time someone did.”  


“Do… do you need to… do you need to keep going to these briefings?” Kylo asks, and his voice sounds so soft, so gentle, so small and young.   


Vulnerable. Shy. Poe pulls back, and looks up at him. “I kinda need to go to this one. But then I can blow off the rest.”

“Is… that okay?”  


In all the time they’ve been trying this out - this friendship-and-fixing-things-and-maybe-more, Kylo has never really made that many requests. In fact, Poe had to yell at him one day for it. It was getting a bit worrying, and Poe felt like he was constantly riding roughshod over Kylo. Like Kylo was so terrified of being too demanding or needy that he absolutely refused to ever make a demand.

This feels like a big thing, somehow. And it’s obvious Kylo is struggling to ask for it, so Poe is more than happy to agree. 

“It’s more than okay. Let’s just get through this one thing, then we… then we can blow them all off for the rest of the day. I’ll sign it all over to Snap, and… and we can just take some time for ourselves.”  


“Thank you,” Kylo says.  


The gratitude for such a tiny thing, such a small demand, makes Poe’s chest hurt. He wonders when Kylo last made a genuine decision for himself, other than turning from Snoke, or facing up to Ithon. Even those had been self-abnegating: destroy a monster, save his mother.

He’s going to have to show him how to be properly selfish, isn’t he?

***

They don’t have any quarters assigned, not yet. That’s somewhere down the line, after fortifying the beta site, ensuring it isn’t burned, treating the injured and assessing the damage. There’s a plan to run through, and it’s still in its early stages. People run around putting out fires before they make this place into a home.

Poe excuses himself - and the General - for all of five minutes in private after the last debriefing. He knows Kylo will be uncomfortable left alone with the other leaders, but a glance to check he’s okay and he vanishes into the small side-office with the other man’s mother.

“General… with your permission…”  


“Whatever you need,” she tells him, the minute they are face to face.  


“I haven’t asked, yet!”  


“I know. But whatever you need. You can stop fighting, now. We can man this without you, for a night, Commander.”  


Poe wonders if she’d be this understanding if it wasn’t her son they were talking about, but he thinks she would. General Organa is nothing if not fair, and kind, and Poe really _can_ let others take over for a day without the whole Resistance falling to pieces. 

And his own emotional state isn’t ideal, right now. His loyalties are slightly torn, his focus broken in two. The immediate danger is over, and… and now it’s time to lick their wounds, in safety.

“Thank you,” he tells her, with all the respect he can muster. And, then: “You know he saved you, don’t you? On Carnia. That’s in your reports, isn’t it?”  


“I know he faced down the Dark Jedi.” She smiles, very slightly. “I know he helped protect me, yes.”  


“You need to let other people know. I mean. _Everyone_. They need to know he’s on our side.” Because Kylo is, and because Kylo only ever shows his allegiance in acts, he’s beginning to realise. Falling, fighting, protecting. His love-letters are motions, are decisions, are choices. Poe can understand that, though it’s frustrating to know he won’t _stand up for himself_ , and instead waits for someone to see through his masks, his layers.  


“I think they’re starting to, and I…” Now she falters. “He’s my son, Poe.”  


“And you don’t want to look like you’re playing favourites,” he surmises, seeing the problem the minute she says it.  


She nods.

“Fine. I’ll tell them. Just… tomorrow. I… he needs me.”  


“I think you need him, too.”  


She’s right. Of course she is. He’s never nearly lost anyone who meant _that much_ to him, before. Not like this. Not since his own mother, and he hadn’t been old enough to save **her**. 

“Talk to Mer. She’ll assign you somewhere. Go. Rest. You both need it.”  


Poe thanks her all over again.

***

The place Mer assigns them is - like Kylo’s quarters had been on Carnia - somewhat on the outskirts of the base. It’s also bigger. It’s far too big to be Poe’s, so either it’s Kylo’s, or it’s someone else’s and they just have it for the night. He doesn’t want to think about anything beyond tonight. Not now. His body is sore from the tension he’s carried all day, and when they get inside and the door shuts, there’s a weird, nervous moment when things - when… when everything is possibility, and he doesn’t know which way the dice will fall if he tosses them up in the air. 

“…you… you’ll stay, right?” Kylo asks, with a face full of anguish. He’s making himself small again, and it’s fucking awful to watch.

“Why are you even asking me that?”  


“I don’t know. I… I just… Poe. I…”  


“Kylo.” He says his name, trying to get him to calm down. The man is acting like he’s terrified of him, and Poe should probably work out how to stop that, but right now he’s afraid, too.  


“I… know you wanted… I…”   


Poe arches up onto the balls of his feet, and grabs the back of his neck, and pulls him down so they can hold one another better. “Kylo. I told you: you’re not leaving my sight. Not today. Not for more than five minutes, okay? I - I can’t… I just…”

“I can’t do this any more,” Kylo whispers, and Poe feels his heart split in two.

This is so not happening. No. His fingers tighten, and Poe feels the tremor of agony run through him from head to toe. “Kylo…”

“I can’t… I can’t pretend I don’t love you so much I want to die when you leave me. Even if it _is_ just five minutes. I know it’s stupid, I know. I know you don’t want to hear it, but Poe… please. If you don’t want… if you… if you can’t… if you don’t want the way I love you, I wish you’d just let me go so I can stop worrying about it.”  


“…wait, what?” Poe frowns, and stands back. “Where the hell is this coming from?” One minute he was sure the man was breaking up with him, now Kylo’s asking _him_ to leave _Kylo_?   


“Poe. You… I…”  


“Kylo, _please_. When have I ever given you reason to think I don’t want to try?”  


“But that’s just it,” the taller man tells him. “You want to try, and I just want - I just want _you_. And the fact you don’t know all the way inside… that makes me think maybe you need me less than I need you.”  


“What?” Poe doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand when Kylo starts to back away. He tries holding on, but Kylo is adamant, and he breaks the contact like a startled animal. “You think me wanting to go slow means I don’t _care about you_?”

“Yes! No! I… Poe. I **know** I love you. I know I have _always_ loved you. And I have never loved anyone else, and I don’t even know if I _could_. And that means I’m broken inside. I’m wrong. Because - because - I just _can’t_ love anyone else, and because I get angry and upset when you’re away, and because I just want - I want you all to me, and I want you so much I’d lie awake all night and scream at the ceiling, and my love isn’t - it isn’t… nice and _kind_ and sweet, it **hurts me**  how much I love you. It **HURTS ME.** I just want _you_ , and I want you so much I go _insane_ thinking about it, and you should probably find someone who is _better for you_ than me because–”  


The stream of insanity is too much to process, and Poe is left reeling from it. Why can’t anything be simple? Why can’t they just _be in love_? “So you get to tell me I shouldn’t love you, because you have too many feelings for me? What the hell bantha-crap is that?” It hurts so much, hearing him, that Poe wants to punch a hole in the wall. “Why would loving me so much be such a terrible thing?”

“Because you’re _good_ , and I’m **anything but good**!”  


“You fucking idiot, you ever think maybe I love you for _who you are_?”  


“Well, you shouldn’t!” Kylo’s ears are red, his lower lip trembling. His eyes skitter to the nearest exit, and the fact that he wants to _run_ is like a vibroblade to Poe’s gut.   


“I nearly lose you, I drag you around with me everywhere because I need to make sure I can _see you_ , I almost throw the battle because I’m terrified you’re hurt, and then I walk away from my _duties_ to comfort you, and you think I don’t fucking **love you too**?” Poe begs him to understand, his voice cracking over the admissions.   


“You shouldn’t.”  


“Fuck ‘shouldn’t’. I do. I fucking love you, even when you’re an asshole. Yeah, because you’re being one right now.”  


“But I–”  


“But what? So you’re clingy and possessive. You ever think maybe I _want_ someone to love me so much that they get jealous? You ever think that maybe I might want someone who makes me feel so weird in my stomach that I - you _tortured_ me, Kylo. You broke me like I was nothing. And what did I do? I fucking **fell in love with you**.”  


“So you have captor-bonding syndrome.”  


“What? Fuck you! I loved you before that!”  


“You just–”  


“FUCK. YOU.”   


Okay, this isn’t helping. Poe balls his hands up tight, aware Kylo is trying for this reaction. He’s trying to get him angry, to break things, and Poe is playing right into his hands. Kylo’s trying his damndest to sabotage their potential relationship, and he has to not let it happen. Has to stop this madness, and get them back on course. His emotions are all over the place, but he can do this. He _has_ to do this. 

“Right,” Poe says, after a moment to breathe in and out. A hand up, to silence any argument for a moment. “Okay. _This_ is why I’m trying to take things slow. This, right here. It doesn’t mean I want to work on our relationship any less than you do, but I– I know it’s going to be hard. Even harder, considering the pressure we’re both under. But you are _not_ going to frighten me off, no matter how hard you try to push me away, Kylo.”  


“Why not?” That smaller voice again, and a fear in his brown eyes.   


“Because I feel just as much about you, okay? I loved you back then, and I never, ever stopped. And I– I didn’t… I didn’t ever think we _would_ get this chance, but I’m sure as hell not going to give up on it. So don’t go around thinking you’re some monster, because I’m _just_ as bad as you. I used to wish you’d give up on the Jedi and run away with me, okay? I used to fantasise about asking you. I used to think maybe I could have you just to me, but I wanted you to be **happy** , and you weren’t happy with me, and I let you go to your uncle and I _hated_ him, I **hated** him for stealing you, and I wanted you **back**.”  


“Then why didn’t you say something?”  


“And: what? Take your chance at maybe feeling better away from you? Be selfish, and steal you from being a hero? Ruin your shot at being a Jedi?”  


“I never wanted to be a Force-damned Jedi!”  


Poe sees that _now_ , obviously, but back then the child he’d been had thought Jedi were the best thing anyone could ever want to be, so why wouldn’t **Ben** jump at that opportunity? Poe would have. In a heartbeat. But Ben… Ben had been afraid, and Poe had just been another voice pushing him into a role he had never been ready to take on, hadn’t he? All from love, all from best intentions and attempted selflessness, but he’d hurt his friend as much as anyone else had.

The hand goes to pinch his nose. Calm. Calm. Think about pre-flight checks. Slow it down, bring it back to an even keel “Well… fuck. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I tried to be selfless and let you have your life. But mostly I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Poe pushes fingers through his hair, and hisses. “I just wanted you to be _happy_.”  


“I wanted the same, for you,” Kylo tells him. “I still do. I’m broken, Poe. I’m not… I’m not right. I’m not good enough for you. My love… it isn’t the kind they make holos about. It’s jealousy, and it’s fear. It’s me thinking I’m not good enough. It’s me convinced you won’t love me as much as I love you. It’s me wanting to follow you around, and it’s me… it’s… _me_.”  


“And I love _you_ , you moron. I love **you**. Even with…” He’s still crying, when he gestures at the whole damn galaxy. It started some time back, and Maker, but he loves this fool so much that even the act of loving is an agony of its own. That’s how he knows it’s the realest thing he’s ever felt, ever. 

Poe swallows. hard. “Even with everything. Even with the torture, okay? And the shouting. And the way you want to push me away, and the way you hate yourself, and the way you think I’m something I’m not. I love _you_. Even if you hurt me. You hurt me **because** I love you. And if it means you need me to holo-message you fifteen times a day, to remind you? Sure. Fine. We’ll do it. If it means you need me to tell you how I feel over breakfast: great. If it means you make me want to scream at you, and kiss you until you stop fighting me back? We’ll do it. Because you’re the person I was meant to be with.”  


Kylo looks so fucking lost, and Poe feels lost, too. This isn’t how he thought love was supposed to be, but then… then he fell in love with someone as bright, brilliant and… broken as Kylo. He should have known it would be difficult. 

“I love _you_ ,” he says, again, with all the soul he can put into it. “So don’t shut me out. Or… do, but know I’m going to break down any wall you put up. You’re gonna have to stop loving me to make me stop fighting for you.”  


“ _Why_?”  


“Why do you love **me**?”  


Kylo stares. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Then don’t _you_ be stupid,” Poe throws back, with twice the energy.  


“…”  


“I’m serious, Kylo. If you love me, then you have to love the fact that I can make my own damn mind up about things. You - **you** \- are one of the most caring, loving people I ever met. You were brilliant even without the Force. You just went toe-to-toe with one of your own damn Knights, knowing he could kill you. You didn’t even break - not _properly_ \- after years of abuse under a freaking Dark Side Master. You still can _love_ , and **fight** , and know what’s wrong, and what’s right. You’re _amazing_ , okay? You’re so freaking good, that even he couldn’t break it out of you. And you don’t do this - any of this - because it’s going to get you power, or because it will make people love you. You do it because you know it’s the right thing to do. Even if people _hate_ you, you still do it. And you - you care so much about me that you’re prepared to be **alone** instead of hurt me?” He walks in, and grabs hold of his shirt again.  


“Poe…”  


“No. Shut up. Shut up and **listen, Kylo**. You’re amazing. Really, truly amazing. And you don’t get to forget that, or what you’ve done. You don’t get to push it to one side. You don’t, because I’ll remind you. I’ll remind you that you’re one of the _bravest people I ever met_ , and one of the most **loving** , and you - you - FUCK. You aren’t just what you can _do_ for people. You’re not just a weapon, okay? You’re a person. And you’re a person, and you deserve to be as happy as everyone else does. Do you think I’m any less of a person because I never had the Force?”  


“No, but–”  


“What if I couldn’t fly? Would you stop loving me, if I lost an eye, and I couldn’t fly?”  


“…no.”  


“So why the hell would I stop loving you? Or you stop being important? You’re not my fucking _weapon_ , Kylo. You’re the love of my damn life.”  


“I’ll hurt you,” Kylo whispers. “I’ll make you hate me. I’ll wear you out. I’ll - I’ll need you to tell me I’m good enough. I’ll never–”  


“It’s _okay_ ,” Poe insists, and walks closer. He puts his hands up, and cups his face. The softest touch he can manage. “It’s okay.”  


“I can’t… I can’t do… half-loving, Poe. I know it’s not fair of me to make any demands, but I–”  


“You don’t _have_ half-love. I promise. You have all of my love. If I could find a way to prove it to you, I would. I freaking would. I’d sky-write it above your head for when you wake up. I love you. And… and I’m sorry you thought me going slow was somehow me not being sure. You mean so damn much to me that I… that if the only way I could keep you was being your friend… then I would take it. Because I’m… I need you. I need you, however much of you you’ll give me. I need it _all_.”  


Hot, salt tears fall from Kylo’s long lashes, hitting his thumbs. It makes sense that their love should be as frought between danger and anger and fear as this. Poe wishes their love could be softer, too, but maybe they can get to that point. Maybe that can be their future, one day. 

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says, and he won’t look up.  


“You don’t need to be.”  


“Yeah. I do. I just… I just gave you an ultimatum, instead of… instead of _ask_.”  


“Don’t see me complaining,” Poe laughs. “Okay. A little. But… I… I guess I needed to know. I… maybe I was pushing you to this? Making… making sure you felt this as much as I do. I want everything you’ll give me, but I’m… I worried…”  


“We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”  


“Yeah. Yeah. We kinda are.” Poe hadn’t meant to force Kylo into a corner, to keep their potential relationship hanging over his head. He’d thought he’d been considerate for both their sakes, but maybe it had some ulterior motivation, too.  


“So…” Eyes fix on his, or try to. “We’re… really…?”  


“Yeah. We’re really.”  


“You… won’t leave?”  


Poe laughs louder, and it’s an ugly kind of laugh. “I’m not leaving. Okay? You have to kick me out, if you want me gone. This is it. This is _us_. We’re… this is us.” 

Large, pale hands curl around Poe’s, on his face. The thumbs slide across his bones, and even that slight touch has his entire stomach moving worse than the first time he punched hyperspace for himself. It’s insane how much he needs him, how even the slightest contact makes his whole body react. Maybe it is unhealthy, and maybe it is unsafe, but Poe has never loved anyone like this. Not ever, not ever ever. Maybe that means the other times weren’t love, and that makes total sense to him. 

He’d never connected to anyone like he had with - with… _Ben_. And when he’d met _Kylo_ , that weird sense had been stretched almost to breaking point. Pulled and pulled until he’d gotten so drunk he’d gone to yell abuse at him, and done something even more stupid instead.

He’s in love with him. This beautiful, faltering man. This too-tall, too-shy, too-sad boy. He’s in love with him, and loving hurts them _both_ , but that doesn’t mean they should **stop** , because Poe remembers how it felt the first time they stopped, and he is certain if they tried again it would kill one or both of them. Not in the literal sense, but in the emotional one. 

Poe couldn’t handle it, if Kylo - if this finished. He knows that. Knew it weeks ago, but the fear - the _threat_ \- of losing him today…

“Let me… I… Kylo. I… want to make love to you. Not… fuck. I…”   


They’ve done nothing but kiss and cuddle, since that first, stupid night. Poe hasn’t dared, not wanting to use sexual situations as any kind of blackmail at all, even if the lack of them has been just as bad a manipulation tool as the presence could ever be. Poe hasn’t dared, and it’s been frustrating as all hell. He wakes up hard every day, and sometimes even jerking off into a sock or a shower hasn’t done a thing to exorcise the thought of Kylo’s lips, his eyes, his hands. The taste of him under his tongue. The sounds he made… Poe was drunk, but he remembers the _visceral_ nature of their first time. Snatches and impressions, like the after-images of an explosion when you close your eyes. The ringing in your ears that says something was _too loud_. 

“Yes.” Just one word, but Kylo means it. Means it so much that the world shakes. Means it so much that Poe thinks he’s been punched in the gut, and his insides dragged out by the fist, left raw and quivering to the late afternoon air.  


“I want… to show you how much I love you,” Poe tells him, and he reaches up high to kiss his brow. Little, tiny kisses. One, two, three, four. Lips that vibrate with emotion, a laugh almost escaping from behind them. Nerves. “How you mean as much to me, as I do to you.” He feels the fingers curl around his hands, and he kisses down the long, long line of his nose. He tastes the after-effects of crying there, and he laps them from his skin. Sorrow isn’t for now. Or it is, but only mingled with joy, with adoration so open and frank that it terrifies the pair of them.   


“I’m afraid,” Kylo tells him. “Of it being too much.”  


“So am I,” Poe agrees. “But I’m still going to try.”  


Poe slides his hands further back, and into his hair. Kylo has beautiful hair. It’s messy from the day, now, but it’s so soft and silky under his fingers. His own is more bouncy, and it’s strange to feel the way it ripples like waves under his touch. Kylo’s hands reach out shyly for his own, and they mirror one another’s gestures. Poe wonders how… how much experience of this his lover has, suddenly.

It’s rude to ask.

He asks anyway.

“Kylo… before… before we… go any further. I kinda… can I ask you something?”  


“Anything,” the taller man offers, as his fingers swirl arcane sigils across Poe’s scalp.  


“Before the other night… uh. How much do you… I mean. With other guys? Are you… do I need to take _that_ slow?”  


Poe has screwed around, of course. Pilots do. All that pent up aggression and fear, and a need to ground yourself. More than once it’s been a fellow pilot, some rough touches to slake a thirst. A few attempts at something serious, and nothing that was ever enough. 

“No. And no.”  


“No?”  


“Don’t go slow, or I’ll murder you myself,” Kylo threatens, but entirely lovingly. “And no. I haven’t. But I’m - just… _please_ , okay? I’ll do whatever you want.”  


“Kylo…”  


“Do we have to have this argument twice in one day?” His eyes flash, then and before Poe knows it, he’s being pulled in by his hair and subjected to the most passionate kiss he can ever remember receiving.  


It’s all teeth and lips and growling and a tongue that inexpertly fuck his mouth open, and Poe’s panting and breathless by the time it breaks. Kylo kisses like kissing him is the single most important thing in the galaxy, and how can anyone _not_ want that kind of passion, that kind of dread focus? He’s dizzy with it, and it takes all his willpower not to just - just - come right then and there. 

Nope. Not a teenager any more. Either self-control or the impotising factor of age has made that hair-trigger more of a double-click. 

Kylo might not be experienced, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. The kiss finishes, and his mouth is still tingly. Likely will feel that way for hours. “I thought we were making love?” he rasps.

“Stop threatening to go easy on me, then.”  


“Love isn’t easy.”  


“Not for us, it isn’t.”  


Poe agrees, and grabs Kylo’s hands, and pulls them out of his hair. Steps back, just to gaze longingly up at him. He’s pink on white, and all blown pupils and finger-swept hair. He’s gorgeous, and he’s all _his_. “Bed. Now.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kylo says it with a twinkle in his eye, and then they’re walking the short distance to the bedroom.  


Poe pushes Kylo ass-down onto the bed, and vehemently straddles him. He kisses him back as hard as Kylo kissed him (with a little more polish, maybe) as he starts to unpick the layers of clothing Kylo locks himself in. He’s pleased to feel fingers tugging his own fabric out of the way, and he obliges when the shirt is near his neck, breaking from kisses long enough to be stripped from the waist up. He bites over Kylo’s neck and throat until he’s worked _his_ clothing free enough, and that gets tossed off to one side, too.

They better be keeping these rooms, Poe thinks. Wait. _They_. As in… together. Poe realises he’s thinking like that, and it sets another fire in his stomach. **Them.** They’re a couple, now. A real one. For better or worse, they’re in this together, and for the long-haul, and that’s simultaneously horrifying and glorious. He knots his fingers in Kylo’s hair again, and sinks his teeth into one earlobe. Kylo clearly enjoys a little sting of pain because that makes him _hiss_ , and Poe is rewarded by fingers that drag too-firmly down from his shoulders, over his back, to his waist. He’s pushed flush to Kylo’s chest, and he echoes the gesture with his own hands.

Every last flicker of response is catalogued, locked down, put to one side inside his mind, ready to be digested at leisure. He’s got a lot of learning to do, when it comes to Kylo. A lot. And it’s going to be fun, he assures himself. He trails up, feeling the bouncebouncebounce of each vertebra, then down over his ribcage, to his waist. He nibbles and licks his way under Kylo’s chin, and purrs happily when hands grab hold of his ass. A few stuttering, inelegant thrusts in response, and then Poe shoves Kylo on his back, on the bed.

Hands still resting on his ass, Poe wriggles until he’s straddling his lover properly, then sits up to gaze down at him. “You’re freaking gorgeous, you know.”

“Only to you.”  


“Nope. But no one is stealing you, so if they think they can even _try_ …” It hurts, that Kylo doesn’t see the beauty in his own face, his body, his - his **character** \- no - **soul**. Because Poe does. He sees the curve of his jaw, and he traces it with his fingers. He sees the taut, lean muscle and bulk, and he knows the hard work that put it on his younger frame. He sees the heart inside of him, behind those eyes, and he’s just going to have to make him understand.  


One day at a time. 

“No one will steal me,” Kylo promises. “Even if they tried, I belong to you, and you alone, Poe.”  


“Yeah. You do.” He slides his fingertips over Kylo’s full lips, and the kisses he gets in response are an agony all of their own. “All of you. All of me.”  


“No half-love?” Kylo whispers.  


“No half-love,” Poe insists. He wanders his other hand, letting it feel for the planes, for the breathing in-and-out. Lets it trace the arch and jut of collarbone, and down over his sternum. Lets it swirl around one nipple, and scrape a single, blunt nail over the pert skin. Smiles, and drops his head to lick and suck.  


Kylo gasps louder, and he moves like a wave from head to toe under Poe’s touches. Poe grins, and licks and laps with due care, before he’s wrapping his lips around and sucking very, very carefully. Fingers go into his curls, holding him in place, and Kylo is trying so hard to rut up against him, without disrupting the careful ministrations.

“Poe… oh _Maker_ …”  


The response is enough to make him keep that up, and he inches his teeth into a gentle vice around his nipple, his tongue flickering hard over it, then sucking his lips tight and his cheeks hollow with the effort. Kylo’s trying to tug him off, and hold him down, both at once. He keeps it up until he can’t, and he looks up - punch-drunk - to see Kylo looking down. 

“I love you,” he says, and he does the same to the second nipple before he can stop him.  


Kylo thrashes, and the bed shakes in protest under them, as Poe looks up with mischief in his eyes and lips, his heart feeling so light as well as heavy. It’s all a mix of opposites, and he loves it.

“You’re killing me,” his lover protests.

“But what a way to go, huh?”  


Kylo drops his head back down in surrender, and Poe grins wider. He gives him some momentary reprieve, and goes back to memorising every last angle of him. “I love your eyes,” he says, as he finishes licking along the line of his lower ribs. “I love your voice. I love your hair. I love your hands…”

“Anything you’re not so bothered by?” Kylo asks.  


“Only the part where we have to sleep and eat and do things instead of one another, but that’s not really your fault.”  


“You can’t hold me responsible for your need for food and sleep, no.” He’s laughing in the eyes again, a little more of that broody darkness gone. Score one for Poe.  


The pilot licks and kisses down over his belly, pushing his tongue into his navel, and then he’s being whacked at by ineffectual hands with the charge of _tickling_ , and Poe never guessed Kylo would be ticklish. Useful for later. He slithers down, and down, and keeps kissing at his stomach and hips as his fingers work over buttons and zips.

“Do you… want me to help?” Kylo asks.   


“I got this,” Poe tells him, and rubs his stubble-rough cheek against his inner thigh. “I so got this.”  


 _This_ being the very pressing bulge he can see and feel in front of him. Trapped in black fabric, but straining to be free. Poe uses his nose to feel for the shape of it, even as his fingers are working flat-out to release Kylo’s cock from the black prison it currently inhabits. He slips his fingers inside as soon as he can, and with an eager need to relearn the smell and taste of him, he licks furiously the moment Kylo’s dick is out in the open.

He tastes even better than his drunk memory, or maybe it’s because he _knows_ , now, that this is right. Is okay. Is more than okay. He pins Kylo’s knees down and open as he almost falls backwards off the bed in his eagerness, purring like a contented predator just before he takes as much as he c– okay, _wow_. Kylo’s definitely a little on the large side, he thinks, as he swallows convulsively around the cock in his mouth. His lips are slightly strained around the thickness, but mostly it’s the length that’s going to make deep-throating him a challenge to work up to. 

 _Definitely_ worth working up to, he thinks, as Kylo thrashes and tries not to suffocate him with thrusting. Poe appreciates that, and pulls up and off with a wet little _pop_. He licks a few more times, and then drops his chin onto Kylo’s thigh, beaming up at him. “I also like your dick.”

Kylo _really_ laughs, then. “I think it likes you back.”

“Oh? What did it say about me?”  


“It said you’re a smug bastard, but that it likes that about you.”   


“Oooh. Well. I’m flattered, I am.”  


“Poe?”  


“Yes?”  


“Could you maybe not have a conversation with my penis and - instead - uh…”  


“Make it happier?”  


“I hate you.”  


“I know.” Poe launches up and over, dragging himself bodily over Kylo until he can kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you, too.” Then he cocks his head to one side. “You okay if I leave you _to go to the ‘fresher_?” he asks, stressing the last part when the word ‘leave’ causes a minor emotional breakdown all over Kylo’s face. “I swear, I’ll be - like - a minute.”  


“…okay?”  


“Trust me?”  


Kylo nods, and Poe awkwardly slinks back to let his feet his the ground. He’s still in his boots, and he walks stiff-legged into the other room. He wants lube, and he doubts they stock it as standard in quarters, but Poe’s had to improvise in the past, and he knows what tends to work, and what doesn’t. Anything slippery enough that’s okay for internal use or on broken skin should do, but… aha! There. He’s used that lotion before. As long as he tests it on Kylo’s hip, he’ll know whether he reacts badly to it, or not. 

When he walks back in with the bottle and a question, he sees Kylo push up onto his elbows, watching him.

“Couldn’t you have told me that’s what you were doing?”  


“Not in case I couldn’t find anything, babe. What if there was nothing good? Then you might feel pressured into trying to do it without something, and _believe me_ , that is **not** something you ever wanna do.”  


Kylo gives him a _oh really_ sort of look, which proves Poe’s point. The damn man doesn’t know what’s good for him, does he? No. He doesn’t. He puts the bottle down, and then grabs Kylo’s pants, and starts to gently shimmy them off him. 

“How do we - uh - do you… is there some protocol how we decide which… way?” Kylo’s utterly flustered even vaguely mentioning it, and Poe wants to kiss him even more. He drops to one knee to remove Kylo’s boots, and kisses at the inside of his calf.  


“Do you have a preference? Or.. something you’ve wanted to try?”  


From the deepening flush, there is one, and Kylo doesn’t want to say it out loud. A pause, and the smallest of nods.

“I honestly like both ways,” Poe tells him. “So… whatever you want to do. Would it help if I… say them? Then you can nod when I get to what you want?”  


Terror floods the other man’s expression, but that terrible, awful yearning. It’s compelling and distressing in equal measure, and Poe’s fascinated by the interplay of want and want-not. He thinks Kylo would do whatever Poe preferred, and that it isn’t a revulsion for an act on his face right now, more… of having to choose. Of having to admit. Of _wanting_ something, and asking.

“Do you want to fuck me? Or do you want me to fuck you?”  


He pauses, between each one. There’s no nod.

“…neither?”  


Kylo shakes his head vehemently. 

This is confusing. “Babe… it’s okay. You can want one more than the other. I told you, I like both, and I want to make you happy, okay?” He slides his palms over Kylo’s bared thighs, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay. It’s just you and me. There’s no shame in any of it, it’s all just great. And I love you, I told you. I love you.”

The younger man swallows convulsively, and spreads his legs a little further around him. Pulls his heels towards the bed, and angles his hips slightly more. An open invitation, wordless but sincere. Poe kind of figured that was what he wanted, because normally a guy who wants to fuck you is pretty much open and honest about it. He’s never met a top who was shy about their desires, though he’s sure most bottoms are also pretty obvious. 

He does wonder if that’s Kylo trying to be selfless again, offering something he thinks Poe wants. It’s going to be difficult to get him to want things properly for himself, but that’s a battle for another day. Even getting this far has been tough enough. 

Poe stands up and pushes off his own pants and boots, and then moves to kneel in the frame of Kylo’s legs. The bed is generously long - probably with Kylo in mind - and he can nestle quite comfortably in the triangle of his thighs. They wrap around him, and Kylo looks utterly terrified.

“Babe… are you sure?” Poe asks, needing not to upset him in bad ways.  


“Yes. Yes. I… _please_.”   


Maybe he does want this for himself, Poe wonders. He grabs the lotion, and warms some in one palm, before swirling his fingers through the slick of it. A smear to his thigh - just to check - and he waits to see if it makes him uncomfortable. His eyes on Kylo’s, watching the rapt look of horror and _longing._ He’s just so - so - **beautiful** that Poe’s heart skips about ten beats. 

“If it’s too much, too fast, you _tell_ me. If you don’t tell me, I won’t do this. I’d rather it took ten minutes longer than you couldn’t walk tomorrow. Okay?”  


“Okay.”  


Poe trails one finger from the tip of Kylo’s cock down, down, chasing the throbbing vein and then over his balls. Kylo grabs his upper arm with one hand, the other up and under his pillow. He’s tense, so tense, and Poe worries he’s not going to relax enough. He dips lower, teasing at his hole so very softly, until Kylo makes a soft _mewling_ , like he’s wounded, and Poe just pushes the very, very tip of his finger into him.

For a moment, time just stops. He’s sure Kylo hasn’t done this to himself, by how he wouldn’t even nod when Poe asked if he wanted to be fucked. He’s dreamed about it, probably, and he’s wanted to know, but he’s never been penetrated at all. Which means this is special, even more so than it normally would be. It also means Poe has to try his damndest to make Kylo feel _incredible_ , so he can cherish this memory forever. And because Kylo freaking well deserves it, okay?

“Babe?”  


“M-more… please?”  


His voice is so fragile and powerful at once, and Poe’s hit by another protective wave. He nods - so does Kylo - and he starts to shallowly push his finger in and out, in and out. Kylo’s body takes the intrusion, and his balls tighten visibly, but Poe gets lost in his eyes instead. Lost in that _connection_ , that arcing sense of **belonging** , of protective need and aggressive focus. Of knowing this was - is - will _always be_ \- the love of his life. The One. Sappy or not, he knows it’s true. Every assignation’s been an attempt to patch over the gaping wound Ben left when he _left_ , but now he doesn’t need to plaster over a gap. He can have him. He can _have him_ , and he pushes his finger all the way inside, and loves the _gasp_ it gets him.

“I fucking love you. I love you so much. I love you so much I almost want to hurt you.”  


“I’d let you,” Kylo tells him.  


“I know you fucking would, you idiot. But I’m not gonna. I’m gonna love you so hard, instead. So hard you know you’re _mine_ , and you don’t go running off on me ever, ever again. You hear me?” Poe crooks and bends his finger inside, knowing full well what he’s doing.

He’s rewarded with an unfocussed gaze, a gasp, and legs that cinch him in closer. “YES.”

“You know who you belong to?”  


“YOU.”  


“Damn straight you do. You’re mine, and only mine, and I’m never letting you go again, Kylo. You’re **mine**. Kylo. Ben. Whoever. _All of you_.”  


Kylo’s legs start to shake, and Poe pushes the second finger in a little faster. He’s still being careful, but Kylo is riding his hand as much as Poe is fucking with it, and his cock is so stiff and full you could probably land a ship on the head. He spreads his fingers, and Kylo _keens_ in loving protest. 

“All yours,” he whispers, voice soft and reverent. “Make me yours. Take me, Poe. I want to know I belong to you.”  


“You fucking **do**. You’re mine, like I’m yours. And I’ll tell you _that_ every morning, too. I’ll wake you up with my lips on your ear, and I’ll tell you I fucking love you. I love you, and you’re mine. I love you, and you’re _never leaving me again_.”   


Maybe it is unfair to say things like this when you’re fucking someone open with your right hand, but not when you’re as deeply, impossibly in love as Poe is sure they are. He’s never felt more certain about anything in his adult life, and when the third finger goes in without any problem, he knows Kylo is enjoying this as much as he is. He growls, and Kylo bares his throat in submission, an offering and an acceptance in one. 

Poe doesn’t think, he just arches up and bites him. Bites him hard, and sucks so hard he knows he’ll wear the mark tomorrow. If he was in his right mind, he’d realise that laying fucking _claiming bites_ on his boyfriend is a bit on the barbaric side, but Kylo nearly comes on his hand when he does it, and Poe feels a savage _glee_ at that. He pulls his fingers out, and grabs his dick instead. Holds it braced at his entrance, and then looks him in the eyes.

“Beg me.”  


Maybe this is also unfair. Using his despair, his need to be filled, to force him into admitting things. Maybe it is unfair, but he suspects - no - **knows** \- that Kylo needs the push.

“ _Please_.”  


“Please what?”  


Dark eyes go black as the void. “ _Please fuck me, Poe_. **Fuck** me. Make me **yours**. Make me yours **_forever_**.”

“You already **_are_** ,” he promises, as he grabs his hips and pulls him home onto his dick. He’s so gloriously tight and warm, and Poe should have done this in a more comfortable position, but the long legs locked around him press heels in for purchase, and Kylo’s riding him the minute he’s inside.  


“ _Allyoursallyoursallyours_ ,” comes the litany, the promise, the pact.  


“And I’m **yours** ,” Poe promises, as he uses hands on Kylo’s waist to ram him down as he arches up. Over and over, until Kylo’s thighs are shaking and he knows he - knows…  


…just that bit more, and…

“Touch yourself,” he orders.  


Kylo - hair a drunken mess - blinks up at him. He doesn’t need telling twice, and the hand on Poe’s upper arm goes straight between his legs. The hold on his prick goes **tight** , and he jerks roughly and arrhythmically, the flickers of tension making him clench around Poe’s cock, pushing deep inside of him.

“Harder,” he insists, and Kylo complies at once. 

The strange feeling of knowing, of _knowing_ him, inside and out. How every moment, every shared breath is winding them closer together. A plateau, a strange sensation of the world opening up like some esoteric fucking mystery, and a glowing, bubbling sensation on the back of his tongue.

“Yours,” Kylo promises, sweat making him glisten so beautifully. “Anything. Everything.”

“Then _come_ ,” he insists, and Kylo does, on command.

He comes in thick, messy spurts from between his blurring fingers. Comes so deep inside that the ripples milk his own climax out of him, and Poe is spilling in him so fast, so hard, and everything just is so fucking damned wonderfully gloriously _right_ that he **laughs** and kisses him through the after-shocks. Kisses him, and doesn’t stop until he can barely hold himself up any more.

Kylo winces, and Poe feels himself being rolled onto his side. One leg still around his waist, the other moving to lie flat. Side by side, with his dick still nestled inside of his lover, as they come down from the high. Chest to chest, and a shy arm around him, and tiny kisses that mean as much as any open-mouthed clinch. 

Poe holds him tight. “I love you,” he reminds him.

“I know,” Kylo replies. It isn’t a line, though. It’s… it’s him accepting it. And it feels so fucking right that Poe wants to cry.

***

In the morning, Poe blinks awake to see brown eyes gazing down at him. His vision is a bit blurry from sleep, and proximity, and he struggles to focus.

“Hey,” he says, his voice scratchy from lack of use.

“Hey,” comes the gentle response. A smile, so very fucking vulnerable and gorgeous.

“You okay?”

“I’m… you don’t feel it?”

“Huh?”

Kylo leans in, pushes his nose to Poe’s, as if he needs not to look at his eyes. There’s a strange feeling inside his head, and Poe doesn’t understand. 

“Can’t you tell?” Kylo asks, shyly.

“I just woke up. Cut me some slack?” Poe leans back, and then he realises there’s something floating just to the left of Kylo’s shoulder. It’s the lube bottle from last night. He frowns, trying to process wh–

“You have it back?” Poe turns back to Kylo’s face, and sees the quiet, unassuming joy there. “The Force?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“…last night.”

“…I fucked the Force back into you? Wow. That’s never happened before.” Admittedly he’s never fucked another Force-sensitive, and he’s never been around one who was cut off, but still. 

“Yeah, well. You did. Way before the end.” Kylo’s cheeks are pinkening again. “I don’t know what you did, but… you did it. And…” another weird sensation in his mind. 

“What are you doing?”

“…that’s us,” Kylo says. “Us.”

“Huh?”

“We’re bonded,” his lover explains. “When I got it back, I could understand what the feeling was, for the first time.”

“…but I’m not Force-sensitive,” Poe argues.

“It doesn’t matter. The Force is in you, even if you can’t normally feel it. And you’re mine, like I’m yours.” Kylo swallows, anxiously. “Now is the time when you stop me having a minor breakdown.”

“…why would you have a breakdown? Isn’t… didn’t we already know?”

“Yeah. I guess we did.” Kylo nuzzles his cheek, and Poe holds him tighter.

Kylo has the Force again. _Everything is going to change_. 

“You’re you again.” Poe doesn’t know how that suddenly makes sense to say, but it does. He is ‘him’. He’d been walking around half-dead, even with Poe to try to shore him up. Although he still thinks Kylo is more than a mere weapon for either side to wield, he can’t imagine how he must have felt to be so split off from his sense of the wider world, for so long.

“I am. I am.” Kylo holds him tighter. “Because of you.”

No, Poe thinks, because of both of us. 

 _Yes_. Kylo’s voice, somewhere inside of his head. That’s freaky. 

“You regularly read my mind?”

“Only when you think it so loudly I can’t help but do it.”

 _Touché,_ he thinks. “We’re going to kill him,” he says aloud, instead. He knows Kylo will be with him every step of that quick mental journey.

“Yes. Yes, we are.” Arms holding him tighter, and Poe feels elation through - through their bond? “You and me.”  


“I’m not so sure I’m going to be much use,” Poe says, dryly. “I’m just a pilot.”  


“No, you’re so much more than that,” Kylo insists. “You’re _my_ pilot. And you’re going to help me save the galaxy from Snoke.”  


His lover sounds surer, calmer, than he has since he got here. Poe… Poe just hopes he’s going to be up to this task. Because for all Kylo thinks he’s something special, he’s - he’s just a _pilot_. Nothing special, except for the part where he’s apparently bonded with the most powerful Force-sensitive of their generation. 

 _You will be up to it._ Another thought, a reassuring touch deep inside his head. 

Also he hopes he can get used to that, too.

“Okay,” he says.  


It’s going to be interesting, if nothing else. 


End file.
